


I'll Meet You There (You Don't Even Have to Say Where)

by IShipItLikeUPS



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, High School, I got rid of my garbage can because we didn't need another one with me in the house, Pre-Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9391028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShipItLikeUPS/pseuds/IShipItLikeUPS
Summary: Emma clenches her teeth to keep from punching him in his stupid, smarmy face. “Weekly tutoring sessions, you said?” she grits out.Mr. Gold leans back in his chair, relaxed in the way that one can be only after having won a decisive victory. “Belle, could you send her in, please?” he says into the intercom.Emma hears the door open behind her.“Miss Swan, I’d like to introduce you to your new tutor: Miss Regina Mills.”High school AU, expect a trope-fest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Permanent Sunlight," by No Devotion, which you can go listen to on YouTube by adding /watch?v=kPshx-3AFKo to the end of the URL. I strongly recommend listening to it with headphones because speakers really do not do it justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started YET ANOTHER new story because apparently I have severe commitment issues and an unending well of bad ideas. 
> 
> This story should be significantly lighter-hearted than anything else I've written so far, although there might be some angst thrown in later because of who I am as a person.

Emma Swan, as uneducated as she is, knows three things to be true:

  1. Regina Mills has perfect grades, perfect hair, a perfect boyfriend, and a perfect life.
  2. Despite the aforementioned perfections, Regina Mills is also a colossal bitch.
  3. Fortunately, this seeming hatred for everyone and everything does not extend to Emma Swan. Unfortunately, if Regina Mills ever deigned to recognize Emma’s existence, it probably would.



Normally, Emma spends about as much time thinking about Regina as Regina spends thinking about her—that is to say, none. But on the way to the principal’s office, Emma had passed by Regina verbally eviscerating an unfortunate freshman who had been careless enough to not watch where he was going, consequently spilling Regina’s coffee all over the shirt Emma is sure is worth more than the entirety of her own wardrobe twice over. So now that she is seated before Mr. Gold and enduring his latest disappointed speech, featuring his disappointed face and disappointed voice, Emma is thinking about nothing in particular, in that vague, wandering thoughts sort of way, which is what allows Regina Mills to float through her head, somewhere between trying to remember what leftovers will be for dinner tonight and whether or not she finished the history project due tomorrow. (She’s pretty sure she didn’t.)

Emma is in the middle of half-listening to Mr. Gold monologue away and idly wondering whether she would get sent home early if she intentionally stapled her hand with the stapler sitting on his desk when she hears something that catches her attention in a manner not unlike being told she has just won the lottery, if “lottery” were secretly some sort of code word for “worst possible experience of one’s lifetime.” Emma abruptly stops picking at her nails to stare incredulously at Mr. Gold’s gratingly condescending smile, but before she can open her mouth to object, he is already twisting his face into a facsimile of understanding and steamrolling over her.

“Unfortunately, Miss Swan, I am quite serious this time. Your habitual tardiness and truancy mean that your grades have floundered nearly to the point of no return. The only way I see you coming back from this is regularly scheduled tutoring sessions, effective immediately.”

Before she can stop herself, Emma finds her arms defiantly crossing in front of her, seemingly of their own accord. “I think I’ll take the expulsion, thanks,” she says as dryly as she can manage.

Mr. Gold’s grimace doesn’t waver for an instant. “As I’m sure you’re well aware, it’s quite difficult to be expelled from a public school, Miss Swan.”

Damn, he’s right. If none of the stupid stunts she’s pulled so far have landed her in expulsion territory, there’s no way she’ll get expelled for shitty grades. Emma racks her brain furiously for alternative solutions, brightening when she realizes that although he may not have the authority to expel her, she certainly has the authority to expel herself. “Fine, I’ll just drop out,” she says, already halfway to the door before the sound of Mr. Gold clearing his throat behind her causes her to stop and heave an exaggerated sigh. “What now?” she groans, reluctantly turning to face him again.

When Mr. Gold’s eyes take on a dangerous glint, she is reminded of all the rumors about the principal that circulate in hushed whispers among the student body, which, coincidentally, are also all the reasons she really probably shouldn’t antagonize him. (To be fair, she’s pretty certain that at least 70% of the rumors are false; there’s no way Mr. Gold ate that kid’s hand, and he almost definitely wasn’t involved in the woodshop accident that led to the detachment in the first place.) “Have a seat, please, Miss Swan,” he says, and Emma has the distinct feeling of staring into the eyes of something reptilian and very dangerous.

Emma decides that exasperating Mr. Gold probably isn’t worth finding out if there’s any truth behind the Crocodile moniker and complies.

“Now, although you could technically drop out, I would hate to see that happen.” Emma is almost touched by his seeming concern before he continues speaking and lays any such feelings to rest. “You see, the school receives funding based on how many students are registered, and if you were to drop out, we would lose some of that funding. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be the reason that your peers didn’t get new bleachers installed on the football field, would you?”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment before he throws down his trump card, saccharine smile stretching so far that she can see his gold tooth. “But by all means, if you wish to throw away your future, we only require a form signed by your parents.”

He has her there. Emma knows it, and she knows that he knows it, too. Just like he doesn’t want to lose his school’s funding, there’s no way her foster parents would risk losing the monthly government check by letting her drop out.

Emma clenches her teeth to keep from punching him in his stupid, smarmy face. “Weekly tutoring sessions, you said?” she grits out.

Mr. Gold leans back in his chair, relaxed in the way that one can be only after having won a decisive victory. “Belle, could you send her in, please?” he says into the intercom.

Emma hears the door open behind her.

“Miss Swan, I’d like to introduce you to your new tutor: Miss Regina Mills.”

 _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fairly short because it was really only meant to serve as an introduction. Future chapters should be significantly longer.
> 
> I'm over on tumblr under ishipitlikeups, if you fancy following me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina does not like Emma Swan (more accurately, she does not like being forced to associate with Emma Swan, although the end result is still the same), but if Cora doesn’t like her, either, perhaps there is something to be said for befriending her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I just wanted to express my extreme disappointment in all of you for somehow finding this garbage fic I wrote half-deliriously at 3 A.M. to be more appealing than any of the other stories that I've poured my sweat, blood, and tears into, lol.
> 
> Secondly, thanks for the great response. I wasn't really expecting much from this fic, but you all seem to like it, so that worked out rather well.

The silence is broken only by the sound of their silverware clinking against the plates as they eat. Regina glances surreptitiously up at her mother, unsure how best to frame the topic so as to cast it in a positive light. After the day she had (a fight with Daniel followed by a ruined shirt followed by being volunteered to tutor the most hopeless lost cause that Storybrooke High has ever seen), she really doesn’t feel like being subjected to her mother’s characteristic disappointment.

From across the table, her papá, having already heard all about her awful day, gives her an encouraging look. It is what ultimately gives her the resolve to take a deep breath and broach the topic she has been dreading.

“I’ve decided to volunteer my time after school at the tutoring center.” (“Decided” is a bit strong of a word. “Had it decided for her” might be more appropriate, but her mother will be irritated enough without the added insult of someone else ordering around any daughter of Cora’s.) Regina doesn’t look at her mother when she says it, keeps her eyes firmly glued on the meal before her, but even so, she can feel the moment her mother levels her with that piercing gaze.

“Oh?” says Cora, and to anyone else, it would sound like mild disinterest masked as polite enquiry, but Regina is 17 on the verge of 18, and she knows better. There is an undercurrent of danger to her mother’s voice, some steely quality that gives the single word a razor-sharp edge, just begging to be tested. Cora says, “Oh?” but to Regina, “Oh?” sounds more like, “Without my permission?”

Regina tamps down her rapidly mounting panic (and how is it that her mother can make her feel this way?) and keeps her voice steady when she says, “Yes, I know that colleges look favorably on volunteer work, particularly volunteering that focuses on the less fortunate.” (She pretends not to see her father’s disappointed look from across the table, but he knows her mother as well as she does: what else was she supposed to say?)

The atmosphere changes in an instant, going from tension crackling with barely contained violence to the type of approval that Regina has grown up craving, made all the sweeter by its rarity.

“I’m impressed, Regina. Just when I had given up hope that you would ever be the type to look ahead, you take the initiative.” (And oh, what kind of a person is Regina, to soak up even this compliment, backhanded as it may be? She tries not to think too much on it, tries not to look too far inward, lest she find the answer to that question.)

This she is used to. Cora’s comments reestablish their normal dynamic of overbearing mother and subdued daughter, and Regina allows herself to relax minutely under her mother’s casual jabs. “I know I should have told you before volunteering, Mother. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, well, see that it doesn’t. You know I only want what’s best for you, darling.”

Henry, sensing the opportunity to steer the conversation towards safer waters, chooses this moment to pipe up. “Do you know who you’ve been assigned to tutor yet, _mi corazón_?”

Nobody misses the sharp look that Cora throws his way at the sound of his native tongue (it’s no secret that she resents the association to “an inferior culture,” as she likes to call it), but Regina quickly jumps in to direct her mother’s perpetually present disapproval elsewhere by throwing her tutee under the bus. “Her name is Emma Swan, and she is absolutely _horrid_ , Mother.” (Sometimes Regina is ashamed of how well she knows her mother. On especially restless nights, Regina ruminates on the fact that she is so used to being whoever she needs to be to survive that she isn’t entirely sure she even knows who she would be without playing her mother’s games. It scares her to think about it, the idea that maybe she is no one at all but the person Mother has made her. Regina has grown so skilled at shedding skins that she is afraid that perhaps that is all she is: a shell of a human being with nothing solid inside.)

As it turns out, this, at least, is something they can both agree on.

“Emma Swan? My God, is she still in town? I thought I had had that taken care of ages ago.” Cora’s lips purse in distaste, obviously making a mental note to take care of whatever loose ends allowed this travesty to go unchecked.

“You know her?” Regina really shouldn’t be surprised that her mother knows who Emma Swan is—after all, Cora holds significant power in Storybrooke—but it always impresses her just how far her mother’s influence extends.

Cora gives Regina that condescending look she has learned to hate so much. “Really, Regina, dear. I thought you’d understand by now that nothing happens inside this town without my say-so. Unless, of course, the Maine state government decides to go over my head and foolishly thinks their transgression will go unpunished. No, this simply will not do. I refuse to have a charity case sullying the Storybrooke image.”

Regina is intrigued.

For the rest of the meal, she continues to mechanically respond with, “Yes, Mother,” and, “No, Mother,” where appropriate, but she has already retreated to that place inside her head beyond even Cora’s reach.

Regina does not like Emma Swan (more accurately, she does not like being forced to associate with Emma Swan, although the end result is still the same), but if Cora doesn’t like her, either, perhaps there is something to be said for befriending her.

That night, Regina dreams of the anger she felt upon entering the principal’s office and realizing why she was there. She dreams of how for the first time, she saw an anger to mirror her own in green eyes as hard as flint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you thought. I'm over on tumblr under the same username if that floats your boat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina rifles through her bag, finally emerging with a new manila folder with the words “Tutoring Materials” written on it in elegant script. “Here,” she says, handing the file over to Emma. “In there, you’ll find an itinerary for the rest of the semester.”
> 
> Of course she made an itinerary, Emma thinks before opening the folder. 
> 
> “It’s color-coded,” Regina adds helpfully.
> 
> Of course the itinerary is color-coded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this new chapter instead of working on my actual responsibilities, so there's that.
> 
> Still blown away by how many people have taken the time to read this/leave kudos/comment. It makes me smile every single time I get an email saying someone has left kudos or a comment, so thank you!

“Red alert: hot bitch incoming.”

Emma glances up from where she is eating her food to see what Ruby means and promptly chokes on the cafeteria’s mystery meat special.

She is still in the process of hacking up the offending bite of food when Regina Mills comes to a stop several feet from their table. Emma would almost believe that her distance was a polite attempt at not invading their personal space if not for her clearly disdainful look and the way that she seems physically incapable of making herself move any closer.

Emma continues to gasp and splutter before downing half of her chocolate milk in an attempt to quell her coughing while Regina watches on throughout it all with a carefully practiced look of boredom. Ruby, for her part, indiscreetly observes the spectacle before her, head turning back and forth between Emma and Regina like a spectator at a tennis match, and Emma doesn’t think she could find it in herself to be surprised if Ruby were to suddenly pull out a bucket of popcorn from her oversized purse. (Lord knows she’s seen her pull out stranger things than that; she’ll never be unamused by the fact that Ruby is singlehandedly responsible for the school’s anti-sex toy policy.)

Emma is just finishing with wiping her eyes from where they watered when Regina looks up from her nails. “Are you quite done, then?” she asks archly.

From somewhere across from her, Emma hears Ruby use her sandwich to muffle a snort (who’s side is she on, anyway?) followed by a grunt of pain as she gives her a friendly kick under the table.

Emma clears her throat one last time before rolling her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, was I too loud while I was over here _fighting for my life_? The last thing I would want is for my struggle for continued existence to disturb you.”

“I hardly think that your inability to swallow before you speak counts as any cause for alarm,” Regina says drily.

“Ha, that’s what _she_ sa—” Ruby catches herself in time and cuts off abruptly, suddenly appearing studiously interested in the remainder of her sandwich.

Regina stares at the side of Ruby’s head distastefully until Emma decides to break the mounting tension. “Why don’t you have a seat? There’s plenty of room.” She uses a broad sweep of her arm to indicate the many vacant chairs around them, narrowly avoiding knocking over the rest of her milk in the process.

Regina gives the chair across from Emma a doubtful look, and Emma decides to save her the embarrassment of pulling out the industrial hand sanitizer she’s sure she always has on her person. “Being a social pariah isn’t contagious, you know. We’re not, like, lepers.”

Regina raises an eyebrow, presumably left in awe of Emma’s _very_ limited Biblical knowledge. “Leprosy isn’t particularly contagious.” This assumption of hers is quickly laid to rest. “Besides, this won’t take very long.” Regina rifles through her bag, finally emerging with a new manila folder with the words “Tutoring Materials” written on it in elegant script. “Here,” she says, handing the file over to Emma. “In there, you’ll find an itinerary for the rest of the semester.”

_Of course she made an itinerary_ , Emma thinks before opening the folder.

“It’s color-coded,” Regina adds helpfully.

_Of course the itinerary is color-coded_.

“The first session is scheduled for this evening at 5 P.M. We’ll meet at the local library. Don’t be late.”

Regina is in the middle of turning on her heel when the words finally register in Emma’s mind. “Wait, _tonight_ -tonight?”

Regina turns back with a sigh. “Yes, _tonight_ -tonight,” she says mockingly. “Is there a problem with that?” She levels Emma with a challenging glare.

Emma is uncharacteristically lost for words. “No, there’s no problem, it’s just that….” She glances across the table for backup, but Ruby continues to ignore them in favor of her sandwich, probably because she figures it’s better to put her sandwich in her mouth than her foot.

“It’s just that…?” Regina prompts her.

Seeing that her reinforcements appear to be otherwise occupied, Emma resigns herself to getting home today much later than anticipated. “Nothing. No, there’s no problem with that.”

Regina gives her a smile that is as fake as it is blinding. “Excellent. I would hate for you to miss it, particularly when we both know how desperately you could use the help.”

Privately, Emma wonders if Regina knows that she speaks like a politician, every word sounding so brittle and false that it’s a wonder her voice doesn’t crack under the weight of the bullshit. Publically, she forces an answering grimace. “Can’t wait,” she says through clenched teeth.

With a flip of her perfect hair, Regina is leaving again, but she stops after only a few steps before turning back. “Oh, and you might want to clean your face before then.”

Emma frowns. “What’s wrong with my face?”

Regina gestures in the general direction of her mouth. “You seem to have grown some facial hair as a result of your earlier… near death experience,” she says with a curl of her lip before leaving once more, this time for real.

Emma hastily wipes off her chocolate milk mustache as she watches her go.

Ruby continues to be thoroughly absorbed by the wonders of her hoagie until Regina turns the corner, at which point she gives up all pretenses of disinterest and proceeds to openly stare. “Dude, what was that?”

“What was what?” Emma asks absentmindedly, eyes still fixed on where Regina was before turning out of sight. She thinks of what they must have looked like from the outside: the school bicycle, the outcast, and the SGA president, all gathered together for a friendly lunch meeting. The thought sets off a round of incredulous laughter.

Ruby snorts. “Okay, don’t tell me. I think I can come up with my own theories just fine.”

The lunch bell ringing signals the end of the conversation, and Emma and Ruby hustle to gather all their belongings and make it to class on time.

“This isn’t over!” Ruby calls out over the sea of heads in the hallway as she splits apart from Emma to take the stairs to her next class.

Unseen by Ruby, Emma rolls her eyes. _She’s right_ , she thinks. _Something can’t be over if it hasn’t even begun_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blah blah blah find me on tumblr @ishipitlikeups


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Teach, what’ll it be this time? English? Calculus?”
> 
> At this point, Regina really shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that Emma obviously hasn’t read her updated itinerary, but she still snaps a little more than she probably has to when she says, “For your information, we’ll be reviewing Miguel de Cervantes’ timeless classic.” She taps her copy of the book for emphasis.
> 
> Emma looks at the book and makes a face. “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t know how timeless that book is. It looks like it’s falling apart.”
> 
> Regina closes her eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. She doesn’t much believe in heaven or hell, but if they’re real, she figures that these tutoring sessions have so far shaved off at least a decade and a half from her time in purgatory. With far more patience than she feels, she grits out, “I don’t mean this copy in particular.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes hello, apologies for the hiatus. I don't really have an excuse, I'm just notoriously unreliable with my writing consistency. I hope it was worth the wait! 
> 
> Shout out to all the people take the time to read this/leave kudos/comment. Getting the notification emails is the best part of my day!

Only two weeks have passed since the beginning of this unfortunate little arrangement, and already, tutoring sessions with Emma Swan are an exercise in self-restraint. Regina has a hard time understanding how she ever felt the slightest bit of intrigue towards someone as rude, uncouth, and unrefined as Emma Swan.

If it weren’t for Emma’s habitual tardiness, her seemingly boundless lack of enthusiasm for any subject material would probably have been the tipping point towards Regina’s newly found perpetual state of irritation, but as Regina switches between looking impatiently at her watch and rapidly tapping her nails against the library table while she waits for Emma to show up, she thinks that she could probably find it in herself to excuse all of Emma’s overwhelming apathy if only she would actually arrive to the sessions on time. Fortunately for her, at the rate that Emma is going (or rather _not_ going), it doesn’t seem as if Regina will be needing to dig into her forgiveness reserves any time soon.

Another fifteen minutes pass before Regina decides that her time spent agonizing over when Emma will show up, if at all, is better spent streamlining the plan for this session so that, should Emma miraculously appear any time soon, they can get things over with as quickly as possible.

Regina rummages through her bag for the day’s materials. The very first tutoring session had demonstrated just how sorely lacking Emma’s knowledge base was in all subjects across the board, so Regina had modified the itinerary for the term to account for this by dedicating each session to a particular subject. According to her schedule, today’s focus is supposed to be Spanish, which Regina would almost be looking forward to if not for the company she is expected to keep as a result. She looks down at her copy of _Don Quixote_ , absentmindedly running a finger over the figure of her horse’s namesake with a small smile. She snatches her hand away and replaces the smile with a scowl when she hears a voice say, “That’s an awfully tattered book you’ve got there. Did you put it through the wash or something?”

Regina looks up to see Emma, who is late for the sixth time in as many sessions (43 minutes this time) and looking totally unapologetic about it. Regina conspicuously glances at her watch, then back at Emma, remaining totally silent throughout.

“Sorry I’m late, it’s because…” At the pointed stare she receives from Regina, Emma trails off, seemingly deciding that whatever half-baked excuse she was going to use wasn’t worth it (or, more likely, wouldn’t be believed), then finishes with, “… of who I am as a person,” and smirks, which is at least a more honest answer than whatever flagrant lie had been about to leave her mouth.

Regina tries very hard not to roll her eyes in response. (She mostly succeeds.) “Yes, well, thank you for choosing to finally grace us with your presence.”

Emma, for her part, shrugs and doesn’t even attempt to excuse herself, probably sensing that it would do no good. She unceremoniously flops down into the seat across from Regina, collapsing onto the table and lolling her head to the side to look at her. “So, Teach, what’ll it be this time? English? Calculus?”

At this point, Regina really shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that Emma obviously hasn’t read her updated itinerary, but she still snaps a little more than she probably has to when she says, “For your information, we’ll be reviewing Miguel de Cervantes’ timeless classic.” She taps her copy of the book for emphasis.

Emma looks at the book and makes a face. “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t know how timeless that book is. It looks like it’s falling apart.”

Regina closes her eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. She doesn’t much believe in heaven or hell, but if they’re real, she figures that these tutoring sessions have so far shaved off at least a decade and a half from her time in purgatory. With far more patience than she feels, she grits out, “I don’t mean this copy in particular.”

Emma looks up at her from her place sprawled across the table and gives her a cocky grin.

Regina mostly doesn’t find it charming. Instead, she lets out an exasperated sigh. “Look, did you do the reading or not?”

From the look on Emma’s face, Regina already knows the answer. She really doesn’t know why she even bothers asking.

 Normally, Regina wouldn’t trust Emma to do anything unsupervised, but for all Emma’s faults, she has proven herself surprisingly adept at understanding literature. “Fine, you can use my copy in the meantime. The reading might be a little difficult because of the dialect of the time, but you’re doing well enough in your literature class that you should be able to figure it out. Here’s a list of reading comprehension questions. We’ll go over them when you’re finished.” Regina hands over the book and leaves her to it.

At least, she tries to.

Emma insists on commenting on every single over the top detail she stumbles across, which, given the book in question, is a lot.

At first, Regina is just glad that she’s demonstrating enough of a grasp on the subject matter of the book to make any comments in the first place, but there are only so many variations of wondering why the eponymous hero is acting the way he’s acting that she can stand. That threshold gets crossed about ten minutes in.

Regina tolerates an hour more of such comments before losing her patience completely. She rubs her temples to stave off the impending migraine before snapping, “Could you please at least _pretend_ to take this seriously? You are this close to failing every single one of your classes, and I _know_ that you are far from stupid. You’re too annoying not to be doing this on purpose.”

Whatever Regina’s surprise at her own sudden outburst, it is nothing compared to Emma’s reaction. She looks absolutely stricken. Her mouth opens and closes several times before she finally silently stands up, picks up her backpack, and walks away.

Regina watches her go with an odd mix of petty satisfaction and latent guilt. It’s only after she sees Emma push her way out of the doors of the library and into the approaching night that she realizes that she left her question sheet behind. With a sigh, Regina grabs it and resigns herself to returning it the next day when she suddenly stops.

All of the questions have been answered. She flips the page over. The other side has been filled out, as well.

Regina reads over the answers more closely. While the grammar could use improvement, every single answer is correct. Some even have supporting quotes from the text.

Regina leans back in her chair in disbelief. She suddenly remembers something she told Emma earlier. _The reading might be a little difficult because of the dialect of the time, but you’re doing well enough in your literature class that you should be able to figure it out._

Today’s session is the most engaged Emma has ever been.

Regina looks up again at where Emma disappeared into the night and loses herself in thought until the librarian comes by to remind her that the library will be closing soon. As she gathers her books, she can’t help but wonder if sometimes the lost causes aren’t really lost at all. Maybe they’re just people who need someone to believe in them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also on tumblr @ishipitlikeups, even though I've been busy lately so I don't post as much as I used to. Feel free to drop me a line/message me with any questions or suggestions about the story!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma is not in the habit of spending time thinking about people who can’t be bothered to think about her, which is why she is decidedly _not_ moping when she knows for a fact that Regina Mills hasn’t spared her a single thought since last night’s tutoring session was cut unexpectedly short. Mentally, Emma lets out a derisive snort. Emma moping over Regina? That would be ridiculous. She is _not_ moping, and if she is (which she _isn't_ ), it has to do with something utterly unrelated to Regina. (Privately, she wonders if people who aren’t moping are supposed to spend this much time reassuring themselves of the fact, but she quickly dismisses this thought.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? An update in a reasonable time frame? (yes but don't get used to it pls and thank)

Emma is most definitely _not_ moping. Absolutely not. After all, what reason could she possibly have for being upset? Regina wasn’t overtly rude—at least, not any more so than usual. She was just _being Regina_. So what if she snapped at her? It’s not like they mean anything to each other, anyway. Emma has spent the better part of the school day telling herself this, so it’s certain to become true any moment now. Finding no flaw in this reasoning, she gives herself a small nod of affirmation.

Emma is not in the habit of spending time thinking about people who can’t be bothered to think about her, which is why she is decidedly _not_ moping when she knows for a fact that Regina Mills hasn’t spared her a single thought since last night’s tutoring session was cut unexpectedly short. Mentally, Emma lets out a derisive snort. Emma moping over Regina? That would be ridiculous. She is _not_ moping, and if she is (which she _isn’t_ ), it has to do with something utterly unrelated to Regina. (Privately, she wonders if people who aren’t moping are supposed to spend this much time reassuring themselves of the fact, but she quickly dismisses this thought.)

Emma’s _not_ moping is rudely interrupted by Ruby’s sudden presence.

“Why are you moping?”

Emma gawks at her in disbelief. “I am most certainly _not_!”

Ruby skeptically raises an eyebrow as she settles into her seat. “Right. So that’s why you’re sitting out here, completely alone, and definitely not staring at Regina’s seat through the cafeteria window. _Most certainly not!_ ” Ruby finishes with a singsong mockery of Emma’s earlier wording, which quickly turns into a grumble of irritation when Emma reaches across the table to smack her spoon out of her hand.

“I’m _not_ ,” Emma insists.

Ruby eyes her over her yogurt, seemingly weighing her options before responding. “Okay. So if you’re not moping, then what _are_ you doing?”

Of their own accord, Emma’s eyes slide to the side of Ruby’s head and focus on the cafeteria window over her shoulder.

“Ha! I knew it!” Ruby crows, brandishing her spoon at her in victory. “You’re moping, and not only are you moping, you’re doing it over _Regina_!”

Ruby’s further gloating is momentarily muffled by Emma’s hand over her mouth, but victory is fleeting; Emma pulls away in disgust.

“Ugh, I can’t believe you licked me!”

Ruby shrugs and resumes eating her yogurt. (Earlier today, Emma would have said it wasn’t possible to eat something smugly, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’s been wrong.) “So?” Ruby prods. “What’s the deal?”

Emma lets out a long suffering sigh before slumping forward onto the table. “It’s nothing. Nothing important, anyway.”

“What’s nothing?”

Emma and Ruby both scramble to look as nonchalant as possible as the very subject of their conversation interrupts them. Simultaneously, Ruby blurts, “Work!” while Emma says, “Math project!”

Regina narrows her eyes in suspicion. “You don’t have a math project coming up.”

Ruby looks between the two of them before abruptly unfolding her long limbs from beneath the table. “I, uh, just remembered that thing that I have to go do… somewhere that isn’t here…. Okay, bye!”

Emma watches helplessly as Ruby makes her grand escape. _Traitor_ , she mouths. From behind Regina’s back, Ruby gives her a wink and an incredibly exaggerated double thumbs up before disappearing around the corner.

Now that they are alone, Regina’s attention shifts to Emma. For the first time, Emma realizes that Regina is uncharacteristically nervous.

“You left in an awfully big hurry last night,” Regina tries.

Emma leans back, folds her arms protectively across her chest, and remains silent. Just because she was (maybe) moping earlier doesn’t mean she’s going to make this easy.

Regina apparently realizes this because she changes tack. “You left your question sheet behind.”

Silence. Emma gets the distinct feeling that Regina isn’t usually one for apologies.

Regina shuffles uncomfortably, and normally, Emma might take pleasure in the ruffled feathers of someone with normally unflappable composure, but today, her desire for amends outweighs her appreciation of watching Regina squirm.

They stay there like that for a few silent moments that seem to stretch into eternities, Emma looking pointedly at Regina and Regina looking pointedly away, before Regina seems to come to a decision. Her eyes focus somewhere over Emma’s shoulder when she says, “My _papá_ gave it to me.”

Emma raises an eyebrow and still says nothing.

“The book,” Regina elaborates. “ _Don Quixote_? My father gave me that copy a long time ago. He told me it was his favorite book, so for a while, it was my favorite book, too. That’s why it was falling apart.”

It isn’t an apology. Not quite. Emma doesn’t really know what it is. But it’s something.

Regina doesn’t explicitly say that it’s important, but Emma knows it. They have been involved in this tutoring arrangement for two weeks, and in all that time, Emma has never heard a genuine word leave Regina’s mouth until now. It is the first time that Regina has shared something about herself, and Emma does her best to school her expression so as not to reveal her surprise. Briefly, she wonders how many other people are privileged with this information. Not newsworthy, not important, but still meaningful, mattering in a different way than some grand revelation. Momentarily, Emma has the impression of seeing the person Regina is when she is herself, the truth hidden behind the designer clothes and politician smiles.

Regina is looking at her expectantly, and in the face of the anxiety hanging in the air, Emma relents. “My favorite book is _Watership Down_.”

Regina looks at her in surprise, and Emma laughs. “Would you believe me if I told you I originally read it because I thought it was about submarine warfare? You can imagine my disappointment when there were no naval battles to be found.”

Regina gives her a hesitant smile, seemingly unsure if she is allowed to laugh, and Emma stares. It is the most genuine she has ever seen her.

In a bid to distract herself from Regina’s casual radiance, Emma extends a final olive branch. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah? 5 P.M.?”

“5 P.M.,” Regina confirms, and her smile turns into a smirk when she says, “This time, don’t be late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This review for Watership Down never fails to make me laugh.](http://ishipitlikeups.tumblr.com/post/66505248209/i-was-reading-the-reviews-for-watership-down-when#axzz4z4ptOJgT)
> 
> As always, feel free to follow me on tumblr @ishipitlikeups. Messages/suggestions/questions regarding the story are appreciated!


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